


Mara and the Real Boy

by Doves44



Category: BROCKHAMPTON (Band)
Genre: Blogging, Celebrity Crush, Emo, F/M, Feelings, Friendship, Gen, Jealousy, Los Angeles, Love Triangles, Makeover, RPF, Secret Identity, Slow Build, Slow Burn
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-03-20
Updated: 2020-03-20
Packaged: 2021-02-28 19:28:00
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,944
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23222494
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Doves44/pseuds/Doves44
Summary: Jada is a blogger, specifically a love and dating blogger. Writing under the pseudonym Mara, her blog is valued for her down-to-earth reports on dating influential people. With help from her best friend Leo, Jada hatches a plan to date  BROCKHAMPTON's resident heartthrob Matt Champion. But when the cute boy from the corner store turns out to be another member of BROCKHAMPTON, Jada finds herself in trouble. In the wake of an earth shattering illness and a city wide quarantine, do two boys make for double the blog content or double the risk of it blowing up in her face?
Relationships: Bearface/OC, Bearface/OFC, Matt Champion/OC, Matt Champion/OFC
Comments: 1
Kudos: 3





	Mara and the Real Boy

CHAPTER ONE  
I thought the skateboard would be a good idea but their wheels are surprisingly heavy and after lugging it under the hot sun for twenty minutes my underdeveloped triceps muscles in my right arms were beginning to strain. The plan had been to skate to the corner store and walk back up since it was mostly downhill. Unfortunately, after a pretty hard fall and a scrape on the elbow, I figured the aesthetic of the board would have to do for now. I had purchased it the day after I moved to Van Nuys, California. The only people I knew who skated in the suburbs of southern Ontario were the kids in my middle school who wore DC shoes and flat-caps back in 2008. It wasn’t really a thing where I was from. But I was in California now. I was ready to say goodbye to the seasonal depression of Canadian winters and evasive attitudes of the northeast and say hello to California dreaming.  
“Hey, Daniel” I nod to the man at the counter as I opened the door. He had seen me exactly eight times in the last two weeks and I honestly have no shame.  
“You’re gonna become my favourite costumer soon.” He says looking up from the card game that he’s playing by himself.  
“I told you, I have no food right now okay. The groceries are coming,” I say walking backwards towards the aisles. I swipe a bag of flamin’ hot Cheetos off the shelf and two boxes of mac n cheese off the next.  
“How’d Ana like her new bike?” I poke my head out above one of the aisles. He rolls his eyes but there’s a hint of joy in them.  
“You know kids they play for something for two seconds then that’s it, it’s over,” he says. Ana is his six-year-old niece who he spoils more than her parents do. Daniel has too much generosity and love in his heart to not spoil her. As far as I was concerned she was a bit of a brat but Ana and her little sister Izzy were his angels. “I made sure there was at least one Mango con Chile just in case you stopped by.”  
“Ugh, my hero. I just might have to become a regular with this kind of service.” Realistically, I already was.  
I make my way towards the back freezers. What made Daniel’s corner store worth the walk were the paletas. Made fresh each morning, a Paleta de Mango con Chile was worth the uphill walk back to my apartment. I had moved into the apartment with my best friend Leo a month ago and I still haven’t ventured much outside of the area surrounding it.  
We moved out here because we both felt it would be best for the blog. We started the blog when we dropped out of school together, three years ago. The only good thing that came out of university was meeting Leo. We met in an Earth Science course and suffered through it together. Then we suffered through the rest of the year together. Then, together, we decided not to go back. We moved out of the suburbs and rented a cheap apartment and that’s where I began chronicling the adventure that is my tragic life.  
Three years later, writing the blog became my full-time job while Leo became in charge of marketing it. Because of Leo’s work in photography, he’s the one who helps connect me to the drama that fills my blog every week on Thursday nights.  
My blog is known for my melodramatic dating life. In Toronto, I am the 2019 Carrie Bradshaw - except black and twenty-one. It started as a few wild tinder dates but it turned into insight for what it's like dating different types of guys. From amateur basketball players to baristas.  
As Leo’s photography introduced him to more influential people, dating those people garnered more views for the blog. They never know we’re blogging about them, of course. To the guys we meet, Leo is a photographer and I am his Instagram muse. My Instagram is known for fashion and hair. Every couple of weeks it has to change: from natural curls to my current waist long, bleach-blonde micro-braids inspired by my queen, Zoe Kravitz.  
Business-wise, it made sense for us to move out here. We would meet better people for the blog and Leo would get more exposure as a photographer. So far, however, we hadn’t quite made it work yet. Leo has been trying to get us invited to anywhere with at least Emma Chamberlain but a month in and I’m still spending my days thrifting, trying to learn to skate and gossiping with Daniel about his bratty nieces over the sweet, spicy deliciousness of his Paletas.  
I scan the freezer selection for my red-ish orange treat. One left, thank god. As I reach to grab it a hand swoops in and snatches it so fast I almost let out a scream. I whip around, locking the death stare with a mop of brown hair and two sea-coloured eyes. My braids hit him as I turn around but I don’t apologize. He had just stolen my current life’s sole purpose.  
“That was mine,” I say with measured frustration. His hair is shaggy, falling slighting over his eyes at the front. His face is straight and his eyes, tired, but there is a slight smirk in his lips.  
“Oh sorry, did you want this one?” his voice is low and gravely. If there is one word to describe him, it would be grungy. His facial hair matches his messy haircut and there is jewelry everywhere. He has a silver nose ring, a chain with an eye in the middle, and a long dagger earring in his right ear. His outfit is black. But his eyes are blue. Not ocean blue. Like the sea, slightly green. Sort of cute – if you’re into the whole edgy emo look.  
“Yes, that’s why I said it was mine” I draw the words out slowly inflecting them with a bit of sass.  
“I didn’t see your name on it” He sasses right back. Classic. I don’t have time for this though. He isn’t going to give me the paleta and I’m not going to entertain this argument. I turn my back to him and grab a kiwi one out of the freezer. Still just as delicious so I can’t have too many complaints.  
“Whatever.” I roll my eyes as a step passed him so he knows I’m annoyed. Daniel will have twice as many Chile Mangos if I come early enough tomorrow. I could always stock up if I bring a small cooler with ice in it.  
“Wait,” he says with hesitation in his voice, “I’m joking here.” He holds out the paleta, “It goes more with your outfit anyway”.  
This almost makes me laugh but I hold it in. He was right. I look down at my vintage salmon-orange Umbro 80s styled running shorts with the matching micro-bandeau top – a rework I purchased off of depop.  
I sigh, trying to hide the joy of my victory. “The kiwi is just as good, trust me.” We exchange the paletas and awkwardly make our way to the cash at the same time. He asks Daniel for two packs of cigarettes and asks to pay for both our paletas, my Cheetos and my mac n cheese. I begin to protest but Daniel cuts me off and waves me away with his hand.  
“Of course, of course. No better way to a girl's heart than through food, right?” He gives the guy with the emo hair a wink. I literally have no idea who this person is.  
“Oh no, I don’t even know his name.” I say at the same time that emo-boy says, “you are so right.”  
I roll my eyes and I am convinced that any more annoyance and they will permanently be stuck like that. Once he’s paid, I bag my food, say thank you and walk towards the door.  
“What is your name anyway?” he says shyly, still beside me. 

•••••

Her name is Jada. Ciaran couldn’t tell you why he asked her name, it just kinda came out. He wasn’t the type to seize moments but there was something so fierce in Jada he had to know more. He had told her his name was Ciaran and she didn’t seem to care much meaning she probably didn’t know who he was. Not that he thought of himself as someone, really and not that he couldn’t talk to a person who listened to his music, but he had just been tagged in an Instagram post the night before by an account called @ciaransmouth so some ambiguity right now wouldn’t be the worst thing. The account was just zoomed-in pictures of his mouth.  
Maybe he asked her name because she stared directly into his eyes instead of at his lips like @ciaransmouth. Maybe he asked because her eyes were pretty. Maybe pretty isn’t the word. They made him nervous when she looked at him. They are large and dark. Apart from her lips which are soft and round, her eyes stand out the most. Fuck, now I’m looking at her lips. Ciaran looks down, reactively tossing his hair with his right hand. He nervously bounces on the balls of his feet for a few awkward seconds while she begins eating her paleta.  
“So” he slowly exhales, “you skate?”  
He gestures towards her board. She licks popsicle off of her lips and holds up a freshly scraped elbow, “oh no” she laughs, “I’m learning though.”  
Jada scans over his outfit which consists of a black hoodie that says “if you pray right heaven belongs to you” across the front, black jeans, and white sneakers. Ciaran knows the question is coming before she asks it.  
“Do you skate?” No, he doesn’t so he couldn’t tell you why he thought that would be a good conversation starter either.  
“Nah” He replies sheepishly. He ruffles his hair again, instinctively. “Do you live around here?”  
“Yeah, about twenty minutes.” She doesn’t return the question, “Hey I gotta go, my roommate’s probably wondering where I am but thanks for the food, uh, Karen.”  
“Keer-an” He breaks up the syllables for her.  
“Oh shit, keer-an. Got it.” She tucks a braid behind her ear. Her lips glide over the paleta as she goes for another taste before saying, “well, thanks anyway. It was nice meeting you.”  
She turns to walk away. Ciaran is about to let her go but that would be so Ciaran of 2016. The Ciaran before joining BROCKHAMPTON, before the four studio albums, before the @ciaransmouth accounts, before it all made him more sure of himself. The Ciaran of right now would tell her to wait, would ask for her Instagram and would dm her in exactly a day and four hours. So, this Ciaran does ask her for her Instagram.  
And this Jada replies, “I don’t really give out my Instagram to, um, strangers. Uh, but I’m sure we’ll run into each other again and then maybe we won’t be anymore.”  
Just like that, this Ciaran of BROCKHAMPTON shrinks a little bit more. He pulls out one of the cigarettes he just purchased and lights it. He inhales deeply as he watches her walk away. She’s right, maybe he’ll see her again, maybe he won’t. There really isn’t anything to this. They like the same flavour of paleta and her smile makes him smile. But so do a lot of things, he thinks. Like wet wipes and drinking water.

**Author's Note:**

> Comments/Kudos are greatly appreciated.


End file.
